


Shadow of the Red Fan

by bobakiin



Series: Dragonsong [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Multi, prequel to skyrim, shit happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24552373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobakiin/pseuds/bobakiin
Summary: Born into a post-Great War Imperial City, Arlen's learned from a young age how dark and unfair the world is. A decision to save a stranger sparks a chain of events spanning several years, leading to them running across the border into Skyrim.
Series: Dragonsong [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774582
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> lets hope i dont burn myself out trying to write this

_The fan is beat twice against the right cheek, before switching to cover the left side of the face: Someone important has returned._

“Caula, come quickly!” Amelie’s desperate shout broke the quiet that hung over the Imperial City. The door quickly opened, and an Imperial woman ran in. Her short, bobbed black hair was messy, and her face bore the look of someone who hadn’t slept in quite a while. She hurried over to Amelie, who was crouched beside a bed. 

“Have they gotten worse?” Caula demanded, kneeling beside the bed. A child twisted feverishly as they kicked off their blanket, their face red and their pink hair slicked back with sweat. Caula’s heart ached as she watched her best friend’s child slip away with each passing second. Arlen had fallen ill with no warning, and only seemed to get worse despite their continued attempts at treatment.

"The fever's gotten higher." Amelie fretted, anxiously wringing her long brown hair.. Caula reached out to feel the child’s forehead, nearly flinching when she felt how hot it was. But it wouldn’t do to show Amelie how worried she was. It was best to keep everyone in the room calm. After all, one person in hysterics could affect everyone else in the room. If the healer panicked, so would everyone. Especially the patient. No, it was best to keep as calm as possible. Even if it seemed impossible right now. Caula breathed in, then back out. Slowly. Calm. It was important, to stay calm. 

"Arlen is strong. They’ll make it through." Magne reassured Amelie, guiding her to a nearby chair. Unusually tall even for a Nord, Magne had fought with Caula during the Great War. They had both returned to help rebuild the Imperial City after the war, content to give up any claims to military glory. But on the battlefield they had made a formidable pair, Magne cleaving entire groups of soldiers with his axe while Caula rushed in with her sword to finish off the stragglers. But that felt like a lifetime ago. Now, they were content to work civilian jobs, and both found that they preferred healing over killing. Magne’s deep voice might have been calming, but Caula could hear the fear in her old friend's voice. He was just as scared as anyone else.

"Where is Gabriel?" Caula suddenly asked, her voice sharp with barely suppressed anger as she realized that Amelie’s husband, and Arlen’s father had been suspiciously absent from the house. It shouldn't have been a surprise, but that didn't stop her hand from clenching into a fist as she considered going to find the man and give him a well-earned punch to the face. "His child is this ill, and he can't be bothered to stay at their side?" 

Amelie shrugged miserably. Magne shot Caula a stern look, a look she knew all too well. The look he gave her with every Thalmor they passed, every time Gabriel was brought up, whenever she was about to let her mouth run before her brain had a chance to catch up. _Don’t say it, whatever you’re about to say._ Caula bit back a scathing remark. Barely. It wouldn’t help Amelie to insult her husband, no matter how useless he might be. Instead, she focused on sending a pulse of healing magic over Arlen, keeping a hand on their forehead. _Right, I have to stay calm._

Hours passed, Magne silently passing Caula uncorked magicka potions while Amelie nervously rocked back and forth in her seat. Eventually, pale light began to filter through the drawn curtains, reflecting off the empty glass bottles that littered the floor of the room. Caula felt the last of her magicka wane, knowing they had used their last potion an hour ago. The fever hadn’t faded, and she could have sworn Arlen’s breath was growing fainter and fainter. She found herself leaning in, desperate to hear any sign that they were still alive. When would the breathing stop completely? Should she warn Amelie now, so she could say her goodbyes? But that would require speaking, and that would break her focus, and she needed all of it to keep up her spell. 

But she finally ran out of magicka, and was feeling the effects of overextending herself this much. Another five minutes, and she too might be at death's door. Right as she was about to move her hands away, and tell Amelie to bring in Edgard to say goodbye to his sibling, she felt a presence behind her.

_Not yet._ A man’s voice seemed to whisper to her. _Let me help._ And there was the sensation of a phantom touch on her hand as she felt a surge of strength return to her. Magic flowed from her hand, but she could tell that she wasn’t casting all of the magic that danced along Arlen’s body. Caula then realized that the hand she had kept on Arlen’s forehead was no longer hot, as the fever had suddenly broken.

Amelie gasped as Arlen opened their eyes, nearly toppling Magne over as she rushed to their bed.

_Well done._ The voice softly praised, before Caula felt the presence leave. She was about to call out to it-him? Did a voice that was probably just an exhaustion related hallucination have genders? But it hadn’t felt like a hallucination. It felt real. She got up, surprised as she realized her strength had returned. Her magicka pools had been restored, with no ill effects from what she had put herself through earlier.

Caula watched Arlen slowly sit up, as Amelie bombarded them with questions. Magne stood to the side, watching the scene with what appeared to be a sense of relief. He turned to Caula, giving her a questioning look. He knew something was up. She shook her head, vowing to tell him later. What was more important was making sure Arlen was alright. She turned to the window, watching the golden rays of the sun sweep over the white walls of the Imperial City. A new day had dawned, and Arlen would live to see it through.

_Thank you._ She silently thanked the voice, though she could feel that it was long gone. _Whoever you are._


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction, to Arlen's family.

_The open fan is rested against the right knee, before being turned over: An ally is nearby._

Arlen sighed, fanning themselves with their book as they watched Edgard spar with their friend. They had snuck outside to kill some time before their tutor came, but quickly regretted it as the hot sun had rendered them a sweaty mess within ten minutes. Summer had come, and Arlen almost wished they lived in Bruma. The people there probably didn't have to sleep with their windows open and no blankets just to stop themselves from overheating at night.

They watched their brother spar with some other boy, kicking up dust as they lunged at each other. The Arena district was a popular place for people to practice sparring, even if they weren't Arena combatants. Arlen was tempted to join in, but it was too hot to move, and anyways being covered in dust would show their parents that they had snuck out.

Arlen wondered how their brother could bear to spar in the heat. He was a Khajiit, and a rather handsome one according to the girls who liked to hang out in the clothing store Arlen’s family owned. His thick silver fur, marked with black stripes, seemed to shine in the sunlight, and his green eyes were narrowed with concentration. His long tail kept him balanced as he swung at the boy across from him. There was an extra flair to his moves, probably for the benefit of the group of girls watching. 

Though, they supposed Edgard deserved whatever positive attention he got after everything he put up with. He had been left by the Waterfront as a baby five years before Arlen was born. Arlen’s mother had found him while on a walk, and she took him home and adopted him, much to the anger of their father. For months, it had been the talk of the Market District, mother and son both dealing with the judging stares of others. But Edgard grew up, and quickly managed to charm his way into nearly everyone’s hearts. Everyone, except the biggest bigots, and Arlen’s father.

Arlen watched with amusement as Edgard knocked the other boy to the ground. 

"You have to teach me how to do that!" The Imperial- Arlen was pretty sure his name was Corves- exclaimed. "Maybe I'll finally be able to beat Livia."

"You just need to be in the right position to hook your foot against your opponent's leg." Edgard explained as he helped him up, before repeating the move in slow motion. "Then move like this, and she’ll be flat on her back."

Arlen watched carefully. While they didn’t share their brother’s affinity for swords, it helped to pick up any tactics they could. Cyrodiil was at peace for now, but who knew what the future would bring? B

"Arlen." Edgard called to his sibling. "Not getting bored, I hope?"

"Of course not." Arlen replied. Part of them envied Edgard, not having to deal with tutors or pressure to get a government job. But they realized that with that freedom came a price. The ones who turned up their nose at him for being a Khajiit in a Breton family, as few as they were, still got under his skin. It was made worse by the fact that one of them lived with him. Arlen’s father wasn’t fond of either of his children, but made his distaste for Edgard incredibly clear.

Their thoughts were interrupted by the chorus of chapel bells ringing, sending birds flying into the air. They looked up at the sky with alarm, realizing it was already noon. They quickly got to their feet, running past Edgard. 

"Run as fast as you can!" Edgard shouted. "I don't want to come home to you being yelled at again!"

Sprinting past the guards, who waved them through the gate with a laugh, they ran out into the Market District, weaving through the crowds of people doing their afternoon shopping. 

"Arlen! Heading home?" Magne asked as they ran past his stall. 

"Yeah, don't tell Azanril you saw me here!" They stopped to wave at him, before continuing to run.

"He went past a few minutes ago, you better hurry!" Valnaya, the alchemist, warned them.

"I will!" 

The Market District, though near completely rebuilt, still bore the scars of the Great War. Arlen hopped over leftover rubble from buildings, taking care not to trip. The patrolling Thalmor soldiers paid them no mind. Their pointed ears earned them the benefit of being less suspected of Talos worship compared to Nords and Imperials, and no one spared them a second glance as they ran. 

Finally, they reached their house. Going through the store entrance was impossible, since their father, who was home for once, would find out that they had snuck out. They instead held their book between their teeth and climbed up a stack of barrels, before jumping and grabbing the Imperial Legion banner that hung from the wall. Ignoring the gasps from passerby, they waited for the banner to stop swinging. Using it to slowly climb their way up, they silently thanked the Palace for making their banners out of such strong cloth, before using it to swing into their open window.

They tumbled onto their floor, right as the door opened.

Azanril raised an eyebrow as he entered the room and saw them lying on the floor, trying to catch their breath with a leg still halfway out their open window. They dropped the book from their mouth, quickly wiping it on their shorts.

"Do I want to know what you were doing?" The Altmer dryly asked, as if he didn’t already know. His long, wavy brown hair was tied back in a ponytail for once, and his robes had a light frost enchantment over them to keep him cool. Arlen wondered if he'd teach them how to do that. 

"I...tripped." Arlen panted, sitting up. They brushed their hair out of their face, giving him their best innocent smile. It didn’t affect him, as he was long since used to their antics. Five years he had been their tutor, and over time he had become their friend and confidant as well. He taught them things like arithmetic and writing, while they taught him what a sense of humor was. A fair exchange, in their opinion. 

"A likely story." The Altmer snorted. "I saw you sitting by the Arena anyways. At least you got here on time."

"Are you going to tell my parents?" They groaned.

"Not if you study hard today." He sat at the desk, pointing to the chair across from him. "Now open that book to page 40, and let's see if you remember what we learned last week."

  
\--

Arlen rubbed their eyes as Azanril sat back in his chair. It was late afternoon, and they were nearly weak with relief when the Altmer had decided to stop for the day.

"You could at least _pretend_ you aren't happy to stop learning. Studying is key to opening the mind, you know.” Azanril leaned forward, fondly flicking their forehead. “You did well though, so I won’t tell your parents about your little field trip.”

“You’re the best.” Arlen grinned at him. “I don’t need my father yelling at me again.”  
  


Azanril grew serious. “If you need a place to stay-”

“No need.” They waved him off. “I don’t want to leave Mom and Edgard, and he’s barely home anyways.”

Azanril nodded, as he got up and started packing his books. There was still worry written across his face as he turned to Arlen before he left.

“Just remember, I’ll always be here for you. You have more allies than you think, you know.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arlen meets a tentative acquaintance, a new friend, and someone to watch out for in the span of 30 minutes.

_ The closed fan is flicked towards the viewer: Danger nearby. _

"Die, Daedra scum!'

Arlen grinned as they dodged Maria's wooden sword. "You'll have to do better than that, mortal!" They blocked her next blow, sticking their tongue out at her as they lunged forward.

"Are you two playing or practicing?" Magne raised an eyebrow. The Nord was watching them from his stall, taking a break from sharpening weapons. It was a hot day, so business was slow for him as buying armor was the last thing on anyone’s mind. After all, who wanted to go around in armor in this heat? Maria herself was dressed in a loose tank and shorts, while Arlen had cut off the bottom of their shirt at an attempt at staying cool. 

"Both!" Maria called back, just as Arlen disarmed her and knocked her to the ground, using the same move they had seen Edgard use a month before. "No fair, I was distracted!"

"Too bad, I guess Tamriel's doomed now." Arlen snorted as they helped her up. "You can't be distracted on the battlefield. One mistake could-"

“-cost you your life. I’ve had Demetrius drill it into my head a dozen times, I don’t need you repeating it too.” Maria sighed. "This is why I'm glad I was born after the Oblivion Crisis. I'd be useless against the Daedra." She set her sword on a nearby crate, before sitting down. "Let's take a break, it's too hot to keep going."

Arlen sat next to her, leaning against another crate. They closed their eyes, as if ignoring the sun would make it go away. It didn’t work, as the hot rays beat down on their face.

They opened their eyes as Magne handed them a glass bottle. They gulped it down, only stopping when there was none left. Maria did the same with her bottle, though she saved a little to pour over her head.

"That feels much better." She ran a hand through her wet hair. "Though I hope this dries before I get home. Mother’s already mad that I chose to go out without a dress. I say she’s mad if she thinks I’m going to walk around in all that fabric.” 

Magne chuckled. "It'll dry, especially with how hot it is. I don't know how those Thalmor can walk around in those black robes." His accent seemed stronger than usual, as if the heat made him care less about matching the Cyrodiilic accents. Most Nords in this part of Cyrodiil had long since had their accents fade away, or they never had one as they were born here. Magne though, was straight from Skyrim. Arlen wondered what made him settle here, so far from the land of constant snow, but they had never asked him. Their mother had told them that some questions were rude to ask. 

"Frost magic, probably. Or an enchantment that resists heat." Arlen shrugged. "My mother's been enchanting Edgard's clothes with those." While it was already too hot for most people, Edgard's thick fur made summer especially awful for him. He now spent most of his time at Lake Rumare with his friends, only returning home at dusk when it was a little cooler. Though the enchantments didn’t stop his shedding, and Amelie noted that in a week or so she’d be able to make fur cloaks out of all the grey fur that flew around the house. Gabriel of course, was furious about it. The heat made everyone irritable, especially their father and his already awful temper. Arlen had turned down their mother when she offered to enchant their clothes as well. She already had unusually low magicka for a Breton, and Arlen didn’t want to add to her workload by making her use it them when they could manage without. 

"I'll have to ask her how to do that." Magne looked at the armor he had for sale, wiping it down with a wet cloth to prevent it from getting too hot. "Might be able to sell some more of this if I can tell people they won't boil to death wearing it. No one wants to go adventuring in this heat." 

"Most of us don’t want to even leave the house, let alone run around wearing metal!" 

Arlen looked up at the Thalmor who had stopped by the stall. As much the Thalmor scared them, they were glad the Justiciar's height blocked the sun. They gave him a wary nod, while Maria politely bowed her head. 

"If it isn't the one Thalmor without a stick up his ass!" Magne greeted the Altmer, patting his back with force that nearly sent him stumbling. Arlen tried not to laugh. "How are you, Fain?"

"Don't let Revarin hear you say that." Fainartil shook his head, his messy red hair falling into his eyes. "Just this morning, Ondolemar and I had to stop him from torching a man who didn't look away fast enough. He's getting harsher and harsher against anyone he even suspects of disrespecting the Thalmor."

"Revarin?" Arlen couldn't help but ask, ignoring Maria's flinch as the Altmer's golden gaze turned to them. His eyes were friendly enough, but there was something behind them that unsettled them. Though Magne trusted him, so he couldn’t be all that bad, surely?

"Revarin is a Thalmor Justiciar, much like myself." He explained. "He's...very loyal to the Aldmeri Dominion, almost to a fault.” Fainartil paused. “Actually, to a fault. The guy’s crazy. If you see an Altmer with green eyes and brown hair that's braided down his back, do try and avoid him."

"Fainartil is alright." Magne assured them, and some of the distrust in Maria's eyes faded. "He isn't as cruel as some of the others."

"That may be true when I'm alone or with Ondolemar, but keep in mind that I have to act the same as the others when I’m around them." Fainartil warned. "So it would be best to treat me like you do the rest of the Thalmor." 

Arlen nodded solemnly. They wondered who exactly Ondolemar was, but decided that might be another “rude” question. "I understand." Maria hummed in agreement, though she would rather avoid the Thalmor all together.

Magne leaned in, changing the subject. "How goes the progress on that promotion? Any closer to getting out of here?"  
  
"It’s going slow, but with so much Talos worship going on in Skyrim, I'm pretty much guaranteed a spot. They need more people to enforce order. It’s just a matter of which Hold I’m assigned to. Speaking of Talos worship..." Fainartil leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper, and Arlen leaned closer. “I'd clear out that Talos shrine in your house if I were you. Revarin has been checking Nord homes lately.”

Magne's face grew grim. "Why Nords specifically?" 

"There have been whispers in Skyrim of a rebellion, especially after the Markarth Incident. They say Ulfric Stormcloak is going to lead it, and you and I both know what he’s like." The Altmer looked around. "I should get going, Revarin will get suspicious if-"

His words were drowned out by the sound of shouting.

Arlen quickly got up, and ran down the street, ignoring Magne's shout as Fainartil chased after them. Pushing through the crowd that had formed, they made their way to where two Thalmor Justiciars were standing over a Khajiit child, who was curled up on the ground.

Arlen recognized her. They had seen her in the Market District and by the Waterfront a few times. She seemed to be mute, only communicating by writing in a notebook she always carried. They wondered what she had done to earn the wrath of the Thalmor.

Fainartil headed over to the other justiciars. "What-"

"Where have you been?" The tallest one snarled. 

"I was investigating a rumor of Talos worship in the markets" Fainartil lied. "Now what's going on?"  
  
"This mangy cat just bumped into me, and had the nerve to ignore me when I spoke to her." The Altmer spat at the Khajiit on the ground, her dark fur matted with blood. He raised his whip to attack her again, and Arlen realized with horror that it was burning.

"Wait!" Arlen ran up, shielding the Khajiit with their body. They bit back a scream as the Justiciar's whip hit their back instead. 

"How dare you interrupt a Thalmor Justiciar when he's administering justice?" Looking up at him, Arlen saw brown hair under his hood, and his green eyes were alight with an unhinged fury. _This must be Revarin._ They pushed down the jolt of fear that ran through them. _I can’t show him how scared I am. Stay calm, Arlen._

"This Khajiit is mute. That's why she didn't answer you." They boldly glared up at him. "And this isn't justice, you're just beating someone for something that isn't even a crime."

There was a gasp from the crowd. No one had dared confront a Thalmor like this, especially not a Thalmor Justiciar. Arlen wondered if they’d die today. Or worse, get hauled off to some torture chamber. Did they have those here in the Imperial City? What would their mother think? 

Maria ran up next to them. "That's right! She didn't do it out of malice, what gives you the right to do this to her?" She kneeled next to Arlen. “You’re an idiot.” She hissed.

“I know.” Arlen muttered through gritted teeth. 

"Why you-" Revarin raised his whip again. Fainartil quickly rested a hand on his shoulder.

"That's enough, Revarin. We can't hurt these children, there would be a riot. We’re here to keep the peace, remember? The Khajiit has learned her lesson anyways. They all have.”

"Fine." He glared down at Arlen. "But I'll remember you two. Especially you, little Breton." He stalked off, followed by the other Justiciar and Fainartil, who mouthed sorry at Arlen and Maria before leaving. 

"By the Eight, I was sure we'd be roasted to death." The tension left Maria’s body as she shakily got up.

The Khajiit weakly tugged at Arlen's sleeve, blinking slowly. There were no words, but the meaning was clear. _Thank you_.

"Stay still." Arlen told her softly. "Maria, go find a healer-"

"No need for that, I'm here." The crowd parted to let Caula through, Magne and Edgard behind her. 

"What were you thinking, jumping in front of a Thalmor Justiciar like that?" The Imperial woman scolded. "Edgard, pick her up, we'll take her to my shop. The two of you, follow me."

"I was only defending her, that Justiciar was about to-"

"I know, I know." Caula sighed. "But imagine how scared I was when I saw him raise his whip! He would have killed you if Fain hadn’t stopped him. Of all the Thalmor to cross, you picked the worst one!"

"These two showed courage by stepping in." A nearby vendor chimed in. "We could only watch out of fear. It’s cowardly that adults should stay back while the children get hurt."

The crowd around them agreed, murmuring praises and apologies. Arlen ducked their head in embarassment, and glancing over they saw that Maria had turned red.

"Caula scolds out of worry, but she knows how brave you two were. We all know." Magne whispered, patting their heads. “Well done.”

They entered Caula's shop, Magne clearing dishes and papers off the table so Edgard could set the Khajiit down. 

"Luckily the wounds aren’t too severe." Caula observed.” Magne, get a wet cloth and wipe some of the blood away. Maria, grab the healing potions in the back. As for you, Edgard, you can take care of Arlen's cut."

They got to work, Edgard grabbing a wet cloth to clean the wound. Arlen hissed in pain. "Ow!"

"Stay still." He ordered. "It's to make sure you don't get infected. Gods, this is going to leave a scar."

Arlen sighed. "Do you think our parents are going to be mad?"

"Our mother will just be glad you're alive. As for Gabriel…He might not take too kindly to you risking your life for a Khajiit." Edgard rolled his eyes. “Or as he would put it, a filthy cat.”

"If Gabriel even thinks about yelling at you for that , I'll punch him so hard he ends up back in the Third Era. Maybe some Daedra will knock some sense into him." Caula muttered crossly, bandaging the Khajiit's arm. "What Amelie sees in that man I'll never know."

"Amelie sees the good in everyone. She has her reasons for loving him." Magnus murmured gently, and Arlen was startled by the heavy sorrow in his voice. Caula gave him a sympathetic look, and some of the sorrow seemed to be reflected in her eyes. Were they sad that their best friend was married to an idiot? _Or is it something else?_

"There." Edgard finished cleaning Arlen’s back. He got up, looking towards the table. "I’ll let Caula heal it after she’s done with her. How’s she doing?” 

The Khajiit reached towards her bag. Magne gave it to her, and she took out a piece of charcoal and a notebook.

_I'm fine, thank you. I'm sorry I dragged you all into this._

"We were just doing the right thing.” Caula assured her, moving towards Arlen to fix their wound. "But what made you bump into him? I've seen you around the markets before, you're usually a lot more...agile."

In response, she dug around in her bag before pulling out an Amulet of Talos. Caula and Magne’s eyes widened, and Maria gasped. Being seen with any symbol of Talos was as good as a death sentence. It was a miracle Revarin hadn’t had her searched.

_He took this from my friend, so I pick-pocketed it back. Now he has no proof that she worships Talos, and she’ll hopefully have enough time to leave the city._

"Awfully brave, putting yourself in danger like that. But he'll come after you once he realizes it's gone." Caula raised an eyebrow.

I plan on hiding the amulet as soon as I can. There are places in the city even the Thalmor don’t know about, so he won’t find me. But now you’re in danger, because people saw you with me. I’m sorry.

“Children shouldn’t have to worry about adults.” Caula sternly told her. “The Thalmor won’t hurt us for helping a child, and we can tell them we didn’t know you had the amulet if they question us.”

Magne shook his head. "Were we this bold when we were young? To pickpocket the Thalmor…"

Caula's eyes twinkled with amusement. "If I remember correctly, you were even more reckless! You and Rikke always got into trouble, even as adults!" She turned back to the Khajiit. "So, do you have a name?"

My name is Cinder-Fur. I know you're Caula. And the Nord is Magne. The one with the pink hair is Arlen.

"You know who I am?" Arlen blinked in surprise. They didn’t think they were that famous, even with all the trouble they caused.

_I heard one of the guards say your name as they scolded you for climbing up the trees in the Arboretum last week_. Cinder-Fur wrote, her whiskers twitching with amusement.

"Honestly! Did Amelie raise a Bosmer or Breton?" Caula shook her head in exasperation as Maria snickered. "One of these days, Phillida is going to haul you straight to the prisons."

"Well I'm Maria. Maria Sestia." The Imperial gave Cinder-Fur a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, though I wish we had met in a better situation.” 

Cinder-Fur dipped her head in acknowledgement.

"My name is Edgard. It's a pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand, and Cinder-Fur shyly took it. Behind them, Caula and Magne exchanged a look, as Arlen and Maria tried to hide their laughter.

Maria looked out the shop window. "It's getting late, we should get back home. Mother’s going to kill me." 

Caula nodded, wrapping a bandage around Arlen’s torso. "We don't want your parents to worry. I need to close up the stall outside, but Cinder-Fur, you can stay here tonight. I need to keep an eye on your injuries anyways.

I can make it to the Waterfront on my own, there's no need to worry about me. 

"It's best not to risk it. I’ll wake you up at dawn so you can get back to the Waterfront before the Thalmor start their patrols." Caula warned, then turned to Arlen, Maria, and Edgard. "You three, stick together. Especially you two." She pointed at Arlen and Maria. "No doubt Revarin is waiting to get you alone. Take the side roads, avoid any patrol you see, but don’t come off as too suspicious."

As they walked out of the store, Arlen tried to ignore the anxiety they felt. They had done the right thing by standing up against the Thalmor, but what would the consequences be? Had they put everyone they knew in danger?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha thanks for reading, make sure to like comment and subscribe and i'll see you in the next fic


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